Pitcher in the Wheat or Something

(Yes, I know what it's called.)

Last summer, I read this book-you might have heard of it?-called Catcher in the Rye. One of my best friends loved this book to pieces, and I'd heard about how it was one of those books 'you just have to read if you're an angry teenager like you are, FRAS!'. (I might have made up some of that sentence, maybe possibly. But it was implied.) So I did.

I think I hated it a lot the first time, even though I found myself relating to Holden Caulfield. I think I hated it because of the toenails. The one scene where they're clipping the toenails at the beginning of the book? Ugh. I hate it. It still gives me the disgusts.

How he just wanted someone to talk to, and he could count on exactly no one. His general angriness and the 'phonies' that make up this world- I'd thought about and hated it all, and some of his thoughts were mine.

Well, he could count on exactly no one- except for maybe his sister, Phoebe. I liked the sister. And the girl he won't talk to, even though he got so many chances, Jane Gallagher. I spent so much of my time after reading the novel wondering why didn't Holden just talk to her? He had opportunities, and she probably would have made him feel better. But I thought about it some more (I thought about this book the whole summer) and I came up with these reasons:

1. Maybe he didn't want to feel better. Maybe wallowing and hating everyone and everything was his style.

2. Maybe he didn't want to go back to those times when Jane was his friend. He was younger, and he was a different, more naive person. Pencey Prep changed him, and hardened him. Maybe talking to Jane would hurt too much, and he wouldn't be able to bear it. Maybe she was one of the few people who he genuinely liked, and he wanted to make sure that she kept the old image of him in her mind.

Granted, it's been a year since I read the book, and some parts are fuzzy, but I liked Holden Caulfield sometimes (because he was like me) and I hated him other times (because he was an unutterable jerk) (so, he was too much like me). But I think Holden is everyone- insecure, and just wanted to trust someone completely, and having to deal with the death of someone he loved (his literally), not have to deal with any fakes he didn't want to deal with. He just wanted to live. And despite everyone who hates him, I don't think that's bad.

I'm going to reread the book, knowing what I know now, and write more about it some other time.

Quote for Saturday, April 30, 2011:

The best thing, though, in that museum was that everything always stayed right where it was. Nobody’d move. . . . Nobody’d be different. The only thing that would be different would be you.

-Holden Caulfield, Catcher in the Rye

(http://www.sparknotes.com/lit/catcher/quotes.html)

Muse for Today:

The best stories that J.D. Salinger ever wrote: Franny and Zooey, especially Zooey's, which makes more sense.

And BEDA is over, darlings! 3o posts and all!

Mildly (Very) Discontented

Today has been an awful way, in that way when small bad things chip away at you until you're completely weary of everything and you simply want to scream.

I'm sick of people thinking they're so clever, thinking they know what's best for me. I'm sick of being ordered around and expected to obey and be enthusiastic about it. I'm also sick of modest people. I'm not sure where that came from, but I complimented a friend of mine, and felt a little sick by how modest she was. Honestly. Accept my compliment! Pete's sake!

Also, today has been some kind of fashion show of people parading around, proving that they're better than me. And that's separate from the two actual shows, the fair and the talent show, both places where people proved they're bloody good. God's sake. I get it. I GET IT. Now shove off!

Not in a good mood at all.

Another low note: I have been listening to Lady Gaga's Born This Way over...and over...and over...

Why do I keep listening to this? (BABY, I WAS BORN THIS WAY! I need to stop.)

Stupid Things I Wrote

Again, I'm an idiot. This is yesterday's.

Embarrassment lies ahead.

I was cleaning my room today, which basically entails me shoving a bunch of stuff onto my floor and spending hours reading over it. I was cleaning out the side of my desk, and I found my old journal from the second grade. I thought that thing was lost. (Now that I've read it, I wish that thing was lost.)

My second grade teacher made us write a bit in a journal every single day before we started class. I fancied myself a bit of a writer back then, so I wrote long, detailed stories in my journal that would often continue over days and days.

Most of my stories were about witches who went as themselves for Halloween (I wrote about Halloween all the bloody time) and got a whole load of candy and had cats named Spiderweb and Brownie. They were always named something like that. Or I would write about me, in some Junie B. Jones-induced fantasy where I had two best friends named Lacy (like Lucille, Junie B. Jones's friend) and Gracella (Junie B. Jones's best friend) and we had horses named Brownie and Blackie and Yellowy, just like Junie B. and Grace and Lucille had in the books. And K, my little brother, often featured as some Ollie-type-irritating-baby-in-the background.

And multiple other shaming anecdotes such as those.

So I went to the deepest pits of hell and hid my badly-written (but lovable?) second-grade notebook somewhere where no one but Kronos could find it, and turned to my desk again.

But, my friend, the pain did not end there. No, I chose to inadvertently prolong my chagrin.

I opened an old red notebook of mine to a page that was...seemingly random.

But it wasn't.

It wasn't at all.

It was actually a page of my undoing.

That page.

That page had the beginning of some weird story where I was friends with Ron Weasley and Harry Potter and they were sending me Honeydukes chocolate in the mail and inviting me to the Quidditch World Cup, because we were fourth-years and best friends.

So basically, when I was eight, I wrote bad AU fanfiction, inserting my childish self into the story.

I stopped cleaning my desk after that.

Quote for Thursday, April 28, 2011:

And so shines a good deed...in a weary world.

-Craig Benzine

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ewjld3_EIrU&feature=related)

Muse for Today:

Only during BEDA would I tell that to the Internet.

A Short Thought

I have got nothing to say today. BEDA can be really annoying, because you get so many posts like this rubbish one. What's the point in writing when you don't have anything to say?

Discipline, I suppose. Because if someday, you have a faint, far-off dream of living off of this writing, you need to train yourself to spew interesting as often as possible.

Huh. I've got some work to do, then. But unfortunately, I also have a physics test tomorrow.

Quote for Wednesday, April 27, 2011:

If you only do what you know you can do- you never do very much.

-Tom Krause

(http://thinkexist.com/quotations/inspiration/)

Muffins and Hatred and Participation

1. I had a muffin for breakfast today. It was really good. Hatred doesn't apply to muffins. Hatred never applies to muffins.

2. I was extremely angsty today. I am nevereverever overly angsty, but some people. SOME PEOPLE just don't know what to say when. Or they try to start an argument. Those idiots make me SO MAD. Today, my reasons for being impatient with these three people were as follows:

1) Exactly how bloody insecure do you think I am? Do I present myself as so incompetent that you think I can't do anything?

2) No, I just hate this one. This person is loud, obnoxious, and every single thing she does makes my fingers twist in knots. She has no excuse for acting the way she does...although she thinks she does, and she plays from that.

3) I generally hate her, too, because she's just plain mean, but today she was being so self-important and racist that I just wanted to hit her in the face. And no one else was saying anything. Who thinks that her opinions are okay? Who honestly condones her ignorant idiocy?

AAAH angst over. (But not really. It'll come back. Someday. *stares into distance*)

3. Actually, another thing I hate (but there's no angst here) is participation. I'm so smart when I'm saying how dumb other people are when they can't talk in class, but when it comes time for me to participate (or gods forbid, actually participate myself) I sound like a good natured idiot who puffs up her ego the rest of her life.

I hate ambush participation, too. Could you be more evil? (Yes, yes you could. But still.)

4. I hate math. I hate math a lot. Is this new for me? I can't remember. It is the enemy of my good. I'm not using that quote correctly. But I don't care. Because I hate math. That made no sense. Unless the quote is about math. Which it isn't. Yerk.

Quote for Tuesday, April 26, 2011:

Striving for excellence motivates you; striving for perfection is demoralizing.

-Harriet Braiker

Muse for Today (and possibly forever?):

http://www.yesandyes.org/2011/03/dont-be-jealous-no-really-dont.html

Music Meme Strikes Back

Yes. I did a thingy like this a while ago. But I actually like iPod shuffle memes, so I'm doing another one. And when else would I do it but April?

INSTRUCTIONS:

1. Put your music player on shuffle.

2. Press forward for each question.

3. Use the song title as the answer to the question even if it doesn’t make sense. NO CHEATING!

How do you feel today?

Bread/Charlie McDonnell

"How are you?"

"Oh, you know. I'm pretty bread. Nothing unusual."

"Really? I felt kind of bread last week. Took some butter, felt a lot better."

"Oh, thanks, man."

"Anytime, man."

What’s your outlook on life?

Gravity/Sara Bareilles

What does your family think of you?

The Godfather: Part II/Harry and the Potters

What do your friends think of you?

I'm Gonna Kill You/Hank Green

Now what exactly does my iPod know about my friends that I don't?

What do strangers think of you?

Just a Boy/Alan Lastufka and Tom Milsom

What. Do I need to grow my hair more? Wear high heels? What exactly do you want, iPod?

What do your exes think of you?

When I'm Sixty-Four/The Beatles

How’s your love life?

With a Little Help From My Friends/The Beatles [again]

I thought they wanted to kill me, now they're setting up my love life?

How will your love life be in the future?

The World is Mine (I Don't Know Anything)/Alex Day

Will you get married?

The Kids Are Alright/The Who

Presumably, years and years and years in the future, my friends who (still) hate me set me up with some serial killer. We are unexpectedly happy together and our kids are alright. Yay.

Are you good at school?

Smells Like Teen Spirit/Nirvana

So...no.

Will you be successful?

Fluorescent Adolescent/Arctic Monkeys

What song should they play on your birthday?

The Birthday Song/Charlie McDonnell

Oh my gods I swear I didn't set this up this is really blooming perfect!

What song should they play at your graduation?

Today Was A Fairytale/Taylor Swift

The Soundtrack of your life?

Mrs. Nerimon/ALL CAPS

Um. Yes, Alex Day is a funny guy. His videos are neat. His obsessions are quirky. But no. Not at all. Sorry.

You and your best friends are?

Sunday Bloody Sunday/U2
What is this? Blood? My death? I'M SO AFRAID.

Happy times:

Wintersong/Tom Milsom

Sad times:

Take a Chance on Me/ABBA

Every day:

The Mirror Song [feat. Kristina Horner]/Alan Lastufka and Tom Milsom

For tomorrow:

Fireflies/Owl City

More like for yesterday. I liked this song only last summer. It's still nice, I guess.

For you:

Bridge Over Troubled Water/Simon and Garfunkel

What does next year have in store for me?

House Song/Ministry of Magic

Finally going to Hogwarts YEAH.

What do I say when life gets too hard?

They/Tom Milsom

I can see that.

What song will I dance to at my wedding?

Stayin' Alive/Bee Gees

Oh gods no. Please no.

What do you want as your career?

We Didn't Start the Fire/Billy Joel

A fireperson?

Your favorite saying?

My Dad is Rich/Draco and the Malfoys

WHY DOES MY iPOD LIE ABOUT ME SO BLOODY MUCH?

How will I die?

Stuck in a Moment/U2

Dandelions

When I was little, my mother told me they were weeds, but I would always pick them in the play ground and make little bracelets out of them. So did my friends. My friends were all weird, though. My best friend in the third grade would make 'purses' out of folded up leaves in the fall, and say that there was a warranty on them 'until it broke'. It took us all an unfortunately long time to realize why this was fishy, and she didn't even charge for them, so why would we need a warranty anyway?

But there are a bunch of dandelions outside, and I like seeing them. They always make me think of summer, but this year especially. I am overly stressed right now- everything makes me think of summer. I just want this school year to end.

But it's funny, how I see fluffy yellow flowers in the grass in April and I think of summer, and I think of crawling around the playground with my friends, making accessories out of nature. I think of driving to the supermarket and going completely bonkers when I saw a whole hill covered in dandelion yellow. I miss sitting in the grass for hours at a time, ripping dandelion stems apart, pulling them up to see the roots and because I thought I was 'helping' (sometimes, I believed my mother when she said they were weeds. I'm not sure. Wikipedia calls them 'flowering plants', but Google says they're weeds.) I really miss being little sometimes. I was so happy with myself when I was younger. I didn't have a plethora of friends, but I didn't worry about it. I could sit by myself, entertain myself for hours. I didn't worry about my weight. I had awful teeth when I was little, but that didn't concern me either. I didn't worry about what looked okay. I liked a lot of the things I like now, actually. Riding my bike, drawing, reading, Harry Potter, watching movies, being nice, making my friends happy, and British things. But everything seemed infinitely easier when I was seven. Maybe that's just in comparison to now, when I worry about everything, and the concerns I worry about are far more life-endangering than they were when I was seven.

Everything just got so so so complicated. I hate being older. But it's not like there's much I can do about it.

Quote for Sunday, April 24, 2011:

The mark of a successful man is one that has spent an entire day on the bank of a river without feeling guilty about it.

-Author Unknown

(

http://www.quotegarden.com/stress.html

)

Muse for Today:

Today, I saw: Hayley G. Hoover's blog, from which I am stealing this 'Today I saw' idea. She did it for Blog Every Day August of 2010. Did I mention I aspire to one day actually become Hayley G. Hoover? Because I do.

Today, I tasted: Cookie Crisp. Out of the box. With my bare hands. Without milk.** Yeah, I'm daring, all right. That was wild. A crazy time, man. Crazy!

Today, I heard: my brother teaching my visiting-from-Brazil aunt how to play Mario Kart Wii. This basically means that K was talking loudly while playing Wii while my aunt talked to my mom.

Today, I smelled: freshly cut grass!

Today, I touched: a dandelion stem, as I ran outside to pluck it from the grass.

**Like an idiot who didn't want to get up and go get milk.

Thing I Hate #1889

Being told what to do. Classic teenage angst, you might say, but I have always really hated being told what to do. This might stem from my idea that I think I know better than anyone else. But no matter what it is, I get really angry whenever anyone tells me to do anything that I don't already want to do.

And now my life seems to go like that.

Blah.

A Really Idiotic Name

AG. I put this up too late! It counts for April 22. It was written on April 22, I just didn't publish it! I saved it when I was doing homework and forgot about it. Ag, ag, ag. Cut me a break.

I'm talking about bad romance novel names.

While I love his books, John Green is notorious for this. Lacey Worthington? Colin Singleton? Quentin Jacobsen? Even Miles Halter is a stretch. Miles Halter could be the stable boy who is in love from afar with the boss's daughter. The boss's daughter, Lacey Worthington, could be in love with him, and think that she has a secret romance with him, but it's really with his twin brother, Colin, who is really in love with the baker's daughter, Margo, and is only using Lacey to get to her family's fortune so he'll have enough money to marry Margo. And Miles lies broken hearted.

But I digress.

Bad Romance Novel Names are not necessarily names from soap operas. BRNNs are names that are so, so romantic and fluffy that they simply don't seem real. They are usually designed to fit the character, like you have the beautiful, forbidden daughter of the mayor? Something flowy and pretty, like Selena Van Slaterson. The ugly, evil guy who is out to ruin Selena's life? Hugo Norris, or something dark and squat.

I don't know if this is a real thing, I've always had this idea in my head. They've always scared me to death, soap opera names. Whenever I write something, I spend the longest time (I kid you not) the longest time on the name. I am actually currently writing a story where I am having so much trouble with the protagonist's name that I am just leaving a blank space every time her name should enter the story. (She's basically Katniss Everdeen, only meaner. Yeah. It's a shame that I have to steal from the brilliance of Suzanne Collins. But I can't come up with anything better, and Suzanne Collins is smart. And good at coming up with names. An underrated task!) And I never, ever name anyone Trent/Brad/Fabio/Lance/Dominic/etcetera, because while those names are fine in real life, they are not fine in soap operas, especially when paired with a name that ends in 'ton', you're in trouble. You have a Bad Romance Novel Name.

A Horrible Week

It's the end of one. Hurrah. (I don't have school tomorrow.)

Good things for today:

• Doctor Who on Saturday.
• Earth Day with my friends. Because yes, there is a chance that we will get together...for Earth Day. Yes. Draw your own conclusions.
• Yoga pants.
• Chocolate muffins.
• Cold pizza. (It seems like I only ever talk about food. That is all I ever talk about.)
• Going to sleep without having to do homework.
• Blah. Good night.

Morons and Midtown

Yeah, that title just sounded good. I actually have considered putting up really interesting titles and lying for a whole post just to fit a title. It's not something I've entirely ruled out.

Speaking of interesting, I realize that I never finished my story. You know, the one where the avant-garde goth breaks into my room, does murals for her sister on my (apparently good) plasterwork, and has a random strange girl suddenly pop up by her side?

Speaking of rooms, look at this! This is a font that looks like llamas! How interesting.

My friend has a fascination with llamas. Anytime we need to come up with an animal, she'll say a llama. I will end up saying a deer. Occasionally a swan, or a goat. I don't know what this says about me.

Hey! Speaking of swans, did you know that if you fold a coat hanger in half, it will turn into a swan friend? I found this out from Tom Milsom! And it is very true! And when you are done with your swan coat hanger friend, you may just straighten him out as best you can into a (probably just a bit lopsided) coat hanger again! WOW. That is amazing.

There is something else I wanted to say, but now I've forgotten.

I am going to bed.

Light

I love it when it rains, I hate Tuesdays. I hate Tuesdays more than I hate Mondays. It seems to me that I really don't hate Mondays at all- I hate Sunday nights. I hate everything about Tuesday. But Monday has been a victim in this battle of hatred waged by me against nothing.
So! I was hating today in my room, as usual, when I fell asleep (the falling asleep part-not usual). I was super-mega tired, and it was seven o'clock, and like some kind of baby, I fell asleep on my bed, clutching my iPod like my iPod was my rectangular, metal, auditory teddy bear. And when I woke up exactly three minutes later, it was raining. I went outside later, and I started thinking about lightning.

I noticed that lightning is like flash on a camera. Sometimes, just to experiment, I use flash to take a picture in a completely dark room. And the subject is lit up, you can see it, but it's a very different kind of light than if I just turned on the overhead lights. It looks more fake, I suppose. It's the same with lightning. A while back, I was standing and reading at the window when there was lightning outside, and the lightning was so bright that it would light up the backyard for a second. And I thought it was so cool, because for that brief second, you could see the details of the backyard, but the light was harsher and faker.

Cameras are like lightning.

In my head, this made sense. Does this make sense?

I feel better when it's raining. Like things can start anew! But it's nicer when it's warm rain, like in the summer, and not 33 degree weather rain, like it is now. April needs to make up its bloody mind about whether it's going to be hot or cold, because I will go straight to t-shirts no matter what, and I end up cold 50% of the time.

La la la Blogspot. I am cold.

Quote for Tuesday, April 19, 2011:

I love Mickey Mouse more than any woman I have ever known.

-Walt Disney

(http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/w/walt_disney_2.html)

Muse for Today:

The creators of Mario...what, exactly, goes on in their heads? (K was playing Super Mario Galaxy 2 earlier today, and I was just wondering how they come up with this stuff.)

Peach should be locked in a rubber room or something. Honestly, she gets kidnapped every five minutes and then Mario needs to go gallivanting off to save her. When does she even do anything? She must spend all of her free time in captivity. But then I guess it's not free time. (Rimshot?)

And if they hate Bowser and Waluigi and Wario, why do they invite them to go go-karting with them all the time? Are you really so low on friends that you need to invite sworn enemies to go on day trips with you? Take a flowerpot. Or nothing. That would be preferable.

Also, this Mario universe isn't real. Nor does it make any logical sense at all. So I should probably stop fretting about it now.

The Return of the Math Midterm

Only this time, it's results. I get them sometime this week.

Results are worse than the actual exam. At least during the exam you can have hope, that maybe you'll do well, maybe the teacher will drop all of the tests in a mud puddle and you will all get automatic A's...

But results? You pass, you fail. Nothing else.

I hate results.

No Muse. The prospect of results brings me down.

Quote?

I hate math results.

-Me

A Conversation

Most people I know, whether from reading or from the Internet or from actual factual real life, have a voice in their heads.

You know, the voice that SHOUTS WHEN YOU READ THIS. Or speedsupalittlewhenyoureadthis. Or reads. This. Sentence. Really. Haltingly. And reads this in a regular voice.

Well, I was thinking about what the voice in my head actually sounds like. When I'm writing, I read my sentences in my own voice. When I'm reading a text, I read the sentence in the manner of whoever it was that texted me. On the off chance that I get a letter or a note, I also read it in a voice. But when I'm reading any book, any blog (even if it's the blog of a vlogger and I know how they talk), or anything I wrote in the past, it sounds like this...this...monotone, more-masculine version of me murmuring. And I'm a mezzo-soprano, kids. Drink that in. Imagine how that would sound. Just weird. But the voice in my head is not weird, it's just there. That's how it is. I don't really control it. Or talk to it to ask it why it is the way it is. And anyway, I suspect a conversation with my voice would go something like this:

Me: Hi!

Inner Voice: Hi!

Me: How's it going?

IV: How's it going?

Me: What?

IV: What?

Me: Hang on.

IV: Hang on.

Me: Ohhhh. Wait, you are me- I didn't really think this through.

IV: No, you didn't.

And then I would get nowhere. And realize that my Inner Voice is a sarcastic little eejit. But it is me.

Quote for Sunday, April 17, 2011:

The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don't have any.

-Alice Walker

(http://thinkexist.com/quotes/alice_walker/)

Muse for Today:

I hate Sundays. They're like a runner to Mondays- especially Sunday nights. I always settle into an unwilling feeling of doom. Like the night before my hanging, and a pardon is virtually impossible. The anticipation makes the week so much worse. I think Sunday nights are worse than Monday mornings.

Listy List

I am so busy now that I

No, I'm not. Actually, I'm lying. I just have nothing to say. I like talking to you just fine, but every day? That's a little wearing. Or what. I mean, I could finish my story about those intruders, but I...I don't really want to. The horror is still fresh in my mind.

Today, I:

• won a committee election when I didn't even mean to put myself on the ballot, and only did five minutes before I won. That was, um. Nice. I guess.
• did homework. I used to see the point of homework, and sometimes I still do see the point of homework. But I think that busywork and stuff that reinforces what I learned in school are very different, and my Spanish teacher doesn't really see the distinction.
• fumed about my Spanish teacher for a good three minutes. She's a good teacher. I guess. The one small problem is that she acts like the Queen of Everything. So I hate her, which makes class infuriating and torturous.
• talked to a friend about books. We don't like the same kind of books, so it was an interesting conversation.
• fell asleep for about five minutes at seven o'clock. SEVEN O'CLOCK! The shame was written all over me (the Night Owl is my superhero name) (or, I guess, would be my superhero name. If I was a superhero).
• worried, like I always do. I think I would cease to function if I didn't fit in a whole 24 hours of worrying every single day.

Quote for Saturday, April 16, 2011:

Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better.

-Olivia

Twelfth Night, Act III, scene i

(http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Twelfth_Night)

Muse for a Day:

Those music festival t-shirts given out after you've gone to see a bunch of different people/bands play in one specified location? And it has some cool design on it, with all the band names and it's a nice little souvenir? I don't know how else to explain...those music festival t-shirts. This is the best way to describe what I'm talking about. I really like them. I want to make a fake one, with some random band names on there, like Glasses Factory or Wendell and Kendell, and have people ask me about the bands on there. Maybe they'll even look up the bands. BUT THEY WON'T BE REAL.

Elaborate prank...and I get a shirt.

Tips for Gym Class

If you are a boy, some of these tips will be highly unhelpful. If you do not change into a gym uniform for gym, some of these will be highly unhelpful. (Luckies. Changing for gym is a pain.) If you are a boy who does not change for gym, I'm sorry.

1. Always bring deodorant. And put it on. Please. The rest of us will thank you- and yes, people do notice if you forgot to wear deodorant. This applies to everybody.
2. Do not get too aggressive. There are the Olympics. And then there is your average middle/high school gym class. Recognize which one you are in, and set your aggression levels accordingly.
3. Keep your voice down. There are horror movies. There are haunted houses. And then there is gym class. One of these doesn't require screaming when some object is flying at your face. You should have been paying attention, and if you were busy flirting instead of fending for your life, well, maybe you deserve a soccer ball in the face.
4. At least pretend to try. We all have sports at which we suck. I suck at volleyball, gymnastics, and everything. I can't score/or whatever without a disgusting amount of luck. But pretending to try will at the very least get some semi-talented member of your team to cover you. On the other hand, not trying at all will get you marked down for participation and make all of the more talented members of your team talk about you in repulsed tones in the locker room. And let's be honest- they suck too. Having them hate you is just an insult.
5. Wash your clothes once in a while. Once every two weeks, maybe. And change your socks, buddy. Every day for the socks. Honestly. This goes hand in hand with Number 1- people do notice. And even if you don't care too much about what other people think, at least consider your general hygiene. You use this shirt every single day, almost- do you really want to go a nine -week semester without washing it?
6. Don't be a ball hog. Simple, third grade rule- easy to forget. People like to think that they are the best contribution to soccer since Ronaldo, and so they try to zip down the field solo and score. Sometimes they are good, but remember- this is gym class. In the end, not one person cares about the outcome. Pass the ball- you're only making the rest of us look bad.
7. Don't make fun. (Do I really need to tell you this?) Remember me? I suck at almost every sport ever? That means I've had my fair share of ribbing. I got lucky- a lot of mine was good natured (or from Ginger, which is the same but not really), but not everyone can have my fabulous nonathletic lifestyle! Before you tease someone, remember that they probably feel bad enough, and you're not helping. Also, never forget that there are loads of things that you suck at too.
8. Do not exact your revenge in gym class. I am dead serious, this stuff happens. Just because Rachel insulted your physics project, or because Lily asked your crush out to Homecoming first, you are not allowed to smack her in the ankle with your hockey stick...seven times. Don't start verbal/physical fights in the locker room. Don't tell tales about other people in the locker room. [Also, settling your differences in gym class? There are so many more creative venues/methods you could use. Come on. Really?]
9. If you don't want to get sweaty, don't go all crazy on the running. Yes, if it's 76 degrees outside and you're tearing down the field, you will probably have sweat. Do not complain loudly in the locker room, saying "How did I get so sweaty today?" Cry into this perfume bottle. Heaven knows you need it, after all of your sweating. You should just play moderately, not tear down the field that all of our lives depend on winning this game, and winning the game rests squarely on your shoulders.

So! There you have it. Gym class, in nine easy steps.

Math Midterms

are made of evil.

WHY ARE YOU (MY LEAST FAVORITE CLASS) THE ONLY CLASS I HAVE A MIDTERM IN?

I am toast.

When Everything You Say

COMES OUT STUPID.

I have just had one of those days when you blather and sound like a certified moron.

(It's like my brain decided to run off to Mexico and didn't let me know.)

And it was for NO LEGITIMATE REASON. Usually, when I'm talking to my friends, they understand exactly what it is I'm saying. (Well, except for Ginger, but that's another blog post). But today I think I insulted people because nothing was coming out of my mouth correctly.

I think I even scared a teacher, and he's not even my teacher. I don't know what was going on. I am not fit (or, was not fit) for human company today and didn't realize it until it was too bloody late!

Inane Rubbish I am going to put because today I am an EVEN GREATER MORON THAN I USUALLY AM:

• This is the scariest/most mesmerizing/most oddly imagined eye make-up I've ever seen in any music video (this includes Lady Gaga):

• Actually, that was pretty much it. I wanted to put the eye make-up on here, because it fascinated me. The song itself wasn't good or bad, but the eye make-up. HONESTLY.
• [garbled noise emits from my mangled mouth as I slowly and truly and finally melt into incoherent madness]

Quote for Wednesday, April 13, 2011:

Mickey: Ricky said he's London's most wanted.

Ricky: Yeah, that's not exactly...

Mickey: Not exactly what?

Ricky: I'm London's most wanted for... parking tickets.

Pete: Great.

-(

http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Tenth_Doctor#The_Age_of_Steel_.5B2.6.5D

)

Muse for Today:

NOTHING. I AM TOO STUPID.

LOVE/LIKE (Or Not Hate!)

A while ago, I made a list of things that I hate. Today, let's make a list of things I love. Or like. Or at least don't hate.

• the song Indigo by Tom Milsom. It contains my favorite intro to any song ever. EVER.
• Tom Milsom himself. He's talented, intelligent, witty, good at what he does and blue-headed. What more could one ask for in a YouTube musician?
• My blogging cousin. And my other cousin, who strictly doesn't have her own blog (coughs)
• my friends who make me food/allow me to steal food from them
• Blondies
• Cheese ravioli
• The funny things my brother says
• The Penderwicks series
• Paper Towns, by John Green. The book that defined my fledgling teenagerdom
• colorful socks
• red hair
• YouTube
• guitars
• piano
• people who play guitar
• people who play piano (like my other cousin who has this friend who hasn't blogged in a while)
• unused notebooks
• book sellers, independent or not
• The Beatles. Without a doubt.
• teachers who know what they're doing
• bicycles
• Doctor Who
• cinnamon gum
• being able to comfort someone who is sad
• Harry Potter, of bloody course
• public libraries
• having a flock of people competing for your attention
• video chatting
• Threadless, the best t-shirt store in the WHOLE WORLD
• hot chocolate
• fingerless gloves, but only for looks. Functionally they're kind of useless
• Thursdays
• Saturday mornings
• skinny jeans
• chocolate muffins
• skim milk
• iced tea
• people who are willing to go out of their way to help you
• people with laugh lines
• the autumn
• the calm silence of people who are perfectly comfortable being quiet in each other's presence
• the 'Artistic Effects' option on Microsoft Word
• journals
• the smell after the rain
• that summer combination smell of sunscreen and and freshly-cut grass
• lavender (the herb)
• air conditioning
• Wikipedia
• the film (500) Days of Summer because of the nonlinear fashion in which it's told
• the video for Life in Technicolor II by Coldplay because they made little puppets for the crew. That appeals to me in some weird way
• having a clean room
• having a lot of time to just...read
• clever parodies (like California Dorks by Skyway Flyer)

Actually, I want to go to bed, so I'm going to stop it here. But there is more. (Wow! There's more! I don't hate everything!)

Part 1

Why did I think it would be a good idea to do BEDA? I should have done "Blog Every Other Week in April." BEOWIA. That's quality.

Ugh. Ideas are harder to come up with than energy- and I am bad at conjuring energy on Mondays.

I have nothing to write about after my tirade yesterday, so I think I will regale you all with a tale of something I was thinking about in school today.

Whenever I talk to people, my mind is never entirely on what they were saying. So I thought this while talking to someone, but I don't think it had anything to do with what we were talking about.

So I read a thing a while back that had advice for teenage girls, and it was really patronizing and stupid, but one line stuck in my head, and this line was: "If someone compliments you, compliment her on the same thing, because chances are she feels insecure about it and that's why she noticed it in you!"

This might not be bad advice, as long as the skirt or whatever I was complimenting was actually worthy of praise.

BUT!

I was thinking of this.

What if one girl is wearing a skirt! And one girl is wearing pants!

Their conversation:

"Hey, I like your skirt."

"Thanks, you too!"

No. *facepalm*

That is one situation is when teenage magazine advice doesn't work. Or doesn't factor in every variable.

Actually, this kind of thing happens a lot. Especially to eejits like me.

"Here's your change. Thank you, enjoy your movie."

"Thanks, you too!"

No. *facepalm*

"Hey, happy birthday!"

"Thanks, you too!"

[Except in really rare instances...] No. *facepalm*

I took a whole lot of space to say a whole lot of insignificance.

About Kindness

**I sound like a cynical wastrel in this post, but I get better about halfway through. This just really irritates me, and I wanted to air my (easily disprovable) opinions.**

I was looking through Tumblr instead of doing work, like every other day of my life, when I found one of those inspirational things telling me that I'm beautiful.

Humph. I get overly worked up over everything, really, and this kind of thing really bothers me.

I will be universally hated for saying this, but I hate those. I hate those messages from random people on the Internet that tell me I'm beautiful and worth it.

They don't know who I am. They don't know a single thing about me- what if I am a horrible, sucky person? Why would you tell a horrible, sucky person that they are beautiful and everything will work out? What does sticking a sticky note saying "U R BEAUTIFUL!!! :)" in a dirty bathroom stall do for me if I'm feeling low? It doesn't reassure me. That message isn't for me. That message is for anyone. That message is even for the horrible person who's making me feel like scum. That makes me feel even worse.

Instead of sticking that in a stall and feeling like you're doing some service, talk to someone you actually know. For instance, I like my friends and family. They're all interesting, compassionate, creative people. I think that if I noticed someone I knew feeling worthless, I could comfort them better than any sticky note or tweet ever could, because I actually know what makes them beautiful and good. I (or you in this case) am better than the Internet when it comes to comfort- I am a person. While I am usually very awkward at comfort (and I know lots of people who have trouble with this kind of thing), it's nicer to have a person awkwardly telling you nice things than a computer screen spitting out the same reassurance to millions of people.

So keep an eye out for your friends' behavior. Sometimes we take them for granted, and that is one of the biggest mistakes we can make.

Quote for Sunday, April 10, 2011:

Never miss an opportunity to make others happy, even if you have to leave them alone in order to do it.

-Author Unknown

Muse for Today:

IT'S TOO HOT. Also, charity. BUT it's too hot for April. My head feels full of humidity. Also, 1/3 of BEDA.

A (Backhanded) Ode to Chocolate Chip Cookies

TOO MANY COOKIES. I feel sick.

What? What's that? You saw the title and were concerned? What about the refreshing cliffhanger ending of yesterday? Who was the Creeper's friend? Why did she have large amounts of generic health cereal falling out of her mouth? What was with the leg warmers in that garish shade of yellow? Was she even a girl? Did I even mention all of this yesterday?

You'll find out, she was hungry, who knows, not sure, and YES (NO).

But that exciting tale will be recounted tomorrow, or some day when I can fully explain to you the dire and surreal situation I am in.

But normalcy-

Today, I want to tell you about cookies.

Something I like: Eating items that are high in fat and deliciousness.

Somethings I don't like: Exercising and eating things that are high in health.

I think I've eaten half a pack of chewy cookies today instead of eating a normal lunch like a normal person, and my stomach hurts. It's not even my fault- the cookies were so good that I thought no one else should eat them. Just not allowed. So I was doing my civic duty, and what do I get? Sick. Not to mention about 40 million more calories than anyone needs in a day.

So even though the evil delicacies are turning my stomach into a butter churn, I must express my love and affection for them.

What is so appealing about chocolate chip cookies? I love Oreos, too, but I can restrain myself. I can stop at *coughs until number is unitelligible*! But chocolate chip cookies seem to take away all of my willpower.

They are possibly made of butter and sugar and flour and chocolate chips and vanilla extract and water and THE ENTHRALLING POWER OF A SIREN***.

They're not even my favorite food- not even my favorite pastry. I love ravioli to pieces, and I like blondies (butterscotch brown-sugar brownies. VERY good) and I can STOP eating them when I feel like I have to.

But chocolate chip cookies will be my downfall.

This was rubbish, but I feel sick and repulsed with myself. I am going outside to try and redeem myself.

It is finally warm outside here- very super warm- and I am wearing shorts. The problem with me wearing shorts is that the second I do, I begin to believe that I am an athlete.

Unless chewy chocolate chip eating is a sport, which it shouldn't be, this is a disappointing delusion.

Quote for Saturday, April 9, 2011:

Part of me suspects that I'm a loser and the other part of me thinks I'm God Almighty.

-John Lennon

(http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/John_Lennon)

Muse for Today:

Why is a suspension a punishment? When someone is acting up in school, why, exactly, is it a punishment for you not to allow them to go to school for a couple of days? That's like a bloody reward!

***Like the mermaid-type creatures from mythology, not a police one. Those don't have too much enthralling power, as far as I know.

I think I'm losing my mind

I reread yesterday's post, and I'm not entirely sure what was going on. Was it real life? Was it just fantasy? I didn't know. I shook my head in annoyance with myself, and turned around to find the Creepy Girl sitting in the corner again, painting a mural on my wall. The mural was entirely black, with bright touches of gray here and there.

I approached and said hesitantly, "That's, um...that's my wall..."

"I know. It's a good wall," she nodded resolutely. "Good plasterwork. Did you do this yourself?"

"No, actually I didn't."

"Shame," she said breezily, adding a dab of gray to the mural. I noticed her accent suddenly had an element of faked Brtishness. "Thought you had some talent for once. Plastering walls. It's good work."

"Can you stop trying to be effortlessly casual and realize that this is not normal? What is going on?" I exploded, nearly knocking a tub of paint all over my floor. "What are you painting?"

"A My Little Pony for my little sister, Taylor. She loves My Little Pony, and her birthday's tomorrow. So shut up, bozo, I'm trying to finish this."

I examined it closer, and guessed that it did look like a My Little Pony, if the My Little Pony was hit by a truck, received really bad plastic surgery, and bathed in 1920's movie magic. I shook my head slightly, and asked, "Don't you have walls of your own? So Taylor can see the mural...at your home?"

She gave me that look again, the one where I feel as though I'm the one who's doing something wrong. "You have better plaster. I think, " she smirked, "I told you this. I noticed that the other night."

I had never felt so confused and defeated in my whole life. I turned back toward the door, determined to call the police on this oddball. "Okay. Just...just don't get any on the floor, okay? No paint on the floor. I'm just going to make a phone call."

"Wait!"

I turned around, because all of this was getting the better of my curiosity.

"How did she get in here?"

There was another girl sitting next to the Break-In Creep, and I'm pretty sure she wasn't there before.

Not Really a Kangaroo Jacket

There's nothing like a pillar of perfection on which to smash my sorry ego...

Inadequacy, or the feeling that you are (inadequate, that is) is normal (I hope?). Having too many perfect people surrounding your imperfection seems like a cruel joke to make them look even better in comparison. And my whole day has been that sort of day.

"It seems like my whole life is that sort of life," the creepy girl in the corner huskily whispered, wearing too much eyeliner and a black hoodie three sizes too big. (Hood up, of course.)

"I prefer to call it a 'kangaroo jacket', actually, and it makes an artistic statement about the meaninglessness of life and work!"

Oh, yeah? Like what?

She shoots me a sardonic look from underneath her hooded eyelids, enunciating as if I'm the mad, bizarre one who broke into someone else's house to make odd comments in the corner. "That black is a color! Not a shade! A color! Take that, society."

What a statement. How did she even get in here? I need to stop leaving the cat flap open. But we don't have a cat. Or a cat flap.

*shoots wary glance to corner and scoots away slowly*

Anyway, I was saying before Miss Clothing from Australia over there interrupted me-

"It's not Australian," she calls over to me, looking bored as she tries reading my dictionary.

You said 'kangaroo'-

"Oh, and you just assume it was Australia?" bursts out my unwelcome visitor, the shine of triumphant conquer shining upon what little I can see of her face. "I just say 'kangaroo' and Little Miss Inadequacy Issues over here decides that 'Oh, kangaroos, things can be from Australia, I'm a geographically-challenged dork, blah de blah de blah!" She leans back into the wall, satisfied.

Okay, then. Where is your precious jacket with its misleading name come from, huh?

She slouches again, borrowing into her hoodie. "I don't know."

Ha. Google saved me. CANADA.

"I can be Canadian. If I want to," scoffs the girl in the corner. "You know, this is a really good book."

That's the, um, dictionary. What did you say your name was again?

"I didn't," she grins in a sinister manner.

That cleared things up. And don't be so sinister. Sinister people don't read the dictionary.

"But it's really good," she raved, in a rare display of emotion.

It seems I need to call pest control for this half-wit.

"You have self-esteem problems. And you're too slumpy."

Are you really in a position to be insulting anyone right now? You're a weirdo that I don't even know who is occupying a whole corner of my room, you're not Canadian and you call your hoodie a kangaroo jacket! You're reading the dictionary!

"You've read part of the dictionary before!" she remarked, injured.

That was four years ago, when I thought I was cool because I- wait a second, how do you know that?

"Lucky guess?" she replied sheepishly.

On that invasive and disturbing note, I will end this conversational blog post. We will recommence tomorrow, when we might fight out Miss Annoying 2011's problem. Or we might be led in meaningless circles again.

"Meaningless circles, for sure," mutters the odd one, putting on a garish shade of orange lipstick. "That's good, right?"

No comment, ha ha ha. Yes comment. You look like you put ketchup on a coral reef and ate it.

"I can still hear you, even if you mumble it sarcastically to yourself!"

Drat.

Quote for Thursday, April 7, 2011:

An original idea. That can't be too hard. The library must be full of them.

-The Liar (1991)

(

http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Stephen_Fry

)

Muse for a Day:

I have no idea what I was going to write about before the creepy girl in the corner. And it's BEDA for a week so far!

Cleaner than Normal

For once in my little life, I have no homework. I am also not reading, watching, or doing anything worth blogging about. So let's pretend you care (honestly, just pretend. I know I'm monstrously interesting, but you can pretend if you want to) and write up a list of stuffs on my bedroom floor. (I am an unorganized mess of processed food, so I am going to leave out things like 'granola bar wrappers' and pretend they don't exist.)

• A stack of blank index cards
• An empty glass of nothing
• I Me Mine by George Harrison (The book, not the song. Although I can't keep a song on my floor.)
• A plastic spider
• A broken-in-half headband
• Posterboard
• My cell phone
• A colored in picture of Hermione Granger and Harry Potter than my friend did for me
• Brave New World by Aldous Huxley (reading it for school. Very confusing, I think)
• Old stories from years ago (because I was rereading them a few nights ago, exalting in my brilliance.) (No, not really.) (But seriously. Those were good stories.) (No, not really.) (But seriously.)
• A black skirt that is very linty- how did it get so linty?
• Some lip balm
• A pen that looks like a flower (I did it with duct tape)
• A magnet from Paris (!) that a different friend got for me when she went there over break. It has dancing people and some French words on it.
• This is Me by Charlie McDonnell (This is music- in CD form)
• Little House in the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder, because I was pining for my childhood or something
• Half a package of unused tissues
• One pair of skinny jeans, questionably clean

And that is it. My rooms fairly clean today. I actually do have something to do, places to go, you know (usually I would be lying but now I am genuinely genuine) so I leave you here. If you want to document your floor, too, try it. It could be Freudian Fun! Punny! Ha! I'll leave before I get too witty.

Future Noncareers

Physics is a class which seems to have been made for the express purpose of reminding me that I'm not so smart. Well, Physics and Trigonometry are both adept at this honorable goal, but I digress.

Usually, physics is math. There is almost no difference between physics problems and math problems except physics has an ego and likes saying that it's science.

Except when it tries to be all scientific and hands-on.

Like today, when we are currently in the process of making a power strip. I realized at least two things in that class:

• Some boys don't deserve to exist, and they exist for the sole purpose of making the rest of us feel slimy and murderous.
• Electrician is at least one more career I will never have.

My list of noncareers (careers I will never have) has been lengthened considerably this year, which just shows you how school can be. Providing me with opportunities and crushing dreams I never knew I had. Just this year:

• Actor
• Gymnast
• Volleyball player
• Mathematician
• Truck driver (but that's a long story)
• Dancer (of any kind, and I knew this years ago, but the way it was proven to me this year makes me shudder at the pain of repressed embarrassing memories)
• And now electrician...

I'm not proficient at a lot of things... but we can only hope I don't have to fall back on any of these.

Also, I have a math test. And a headache. But that's okay.

No, it's not.

Quote for Tuesday, April 5, 2011:

"Le public est une bête féroce: il faut l’enchaîner ou la fuir."

("The public is a ferocious beast: one must chain it up or flee from it.")

-Voltaire

(

http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Voltaire

)

Indigo Eyes

I was back in school today after a week off, and in a way, I like being in school sometimes. I like the structure. I also like hating the structure, and doing everything I can to rebel against the structure (without actually ever getting in trouble, because I am a goody two-shoes).

I actually was thinking all day about what I would blog about- I know people run out of ideas fast during BEDA, and you can only use that "I'm dry!" excuse so many times in the month.

Actually, it's *cough cough* Day 4, and I think I've used that excuse already...

Now that we've trundled through all of my ceremonial useless blather, let's get to the real point:

I was walking down the hallway on my way to lunch. I was late, as usual. There's never anything good to notice when you're late. So I was noticing things like "School spirit banner...locker...locker...classroom...school spirit banner...pen on the ground! Ha ha! That's mine now! Locker...locker..." when I came across two people who were just standing there and talking. Using my stunning command of insipid glances, I shoot a sidelong look at the two people languidly leaning against the lockers, and I noticed their eyes right away, that they are the most interesting eyes I've ever seen.

The two of them have to be related, because their eyes were so uncannily similar. They (the eyes, not the people) were so dark that their irises almost looked black, but they were actually this sharp, deep shade of twilight indigo. Their eyes were shaped like cat's eyes, too, shrewd and narrow, so they looked like really wise gods, shining down upon the mortals of earth with their arresting eyes.

I think I had to catch my breath for a second, because I have never seen eyes that cool in person. The boy just gave me a quick glance and then ignored me, but the girl (who outlined her eye in midnight blue, making it stand out even more) gave me this annoying little smirk, like she knew what I was thinking. I felt very creepy, like I'd intruded on something, so I hurried along to try and erase the moment from existence.

But those were unforgettable eyes.

Quote for Monday, April 4, 2011:

The truth will set you free. But not until it is finished with you.

-(http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Infinite_Jest)

Muse for Today:

Other than what I wrote about in the post, this. Although, looking at Josh Hutcherson, he would make a better Gale than Peeta. But the filmmakers didn't ask me first.

Really Bad YA Fiction

Today, I am coming to you about YA novels. I am going to do my best not to criticize, but instead just bring things to your attention, in case your attentions weren't there anyway.

I'd like to think I am the key demographic for Young Adult novels- I am a teenage girl who likes to read and will put up with a lot of rubbish exposition for about fifty pages. (I read Twilight, didn't I? Nothing happened for roughly the first 110 pages. And I read it before the sensation started, too. There was nothing keeping me there but my ironclad patience and lack of anything else to do.) Also, I have outgrown quite a few children's books, but am throughly bored and/or disgusted by some adult books. This type of literature was made for me.

Or so you might think.

There are quite a few excellent YA authors, and what makes them excellent is that they do not pander to their audience. They understand who they're writing to. They know that not every single teenager has their mind completely fixated on the opposite gender and how to make the other gender love them (though it would be a lie to say that doesn't play some part). I like books that bring up some sort of thought, some sort of wondering about the world. I think teenagers have a lot that we're not sure of, and we don't really seem to fit in anywhere. We're too old to do things that we like or liked to do, but too young to do things that seem like the next step from where we are. It's an extremely awkward and boring place to be in, sometimes, and finding that state of wondering that isn't child-like but isn't grown-up is hard to do, but really pleasant to read when the author finds it.

For these sort of books, I like Paper Towns by John Green (probably the best YA novel ever written) and Don't Call Me Ishmael by Micheal Gerard Bauer (which is funny the entire time. Also, Australian).

But then there are YA books that I don't like, and I won't mention any of these by name because I hate them so much.

Usually, these books involve a girl. This girl will be either be:

• some sort of completely inadequate and insecure so-called 'smart-girl' who has one super-mega-totally-tight-yo-best friend, a horde of 'just-there' friends, and lots of time to complain. You will be asked to relate to her, but there is a 75% chance* that you will hate her.
• some 'new girl' who is 'different', 'smart', and 'totally appealing to everybody' but will still wind up being the whiniest brat in the whole story. You will be asked nothing of her, because she is so 'meek' and 'shy', but there is a 92% chance* that you will hate her.
• some kind of a Mary Sue who's desperately insecure and hides it all behind her Homecoming Queen smile and straight-A average (she will be involved in 'dozens of extra-curriculars' but somehow also have enormous amounts of time in which to complain). You will be asked to relate to her. However, because she is both irritating, spoiled, and completely unrealistic, there is a 89% chance* that you will hate her.
• some awful variation/combination of one of these.

What will happen is that this girl will be completely fixated by some boy, and this boy will be a vampire but nobody else at the school knows it, and he'll be intrigued by her because he can't read her mind, because, you know, he's a mind reading-vampire-thing, and they'll sit next to each other in biology and he'll sparkle in the sun like a pretty, pretty diamond and she'll want to kiss him, but he'll be afraid that he'll eat her if they do kiss so he won't but then they do, and then there's a werewolf who comes in and makes things complicated but he's not really a werewolf and he doesn't own a shirt and he smells good which is part of the complication but that comes later, because now there's only the sparkly undead manly-man and the masochistic little wimpy high-schooler who is getting in too deep.

So...yeah.**

Quote for Sunday, April 3, 2011:

Kat: You are amazingly self-assured, has anyone ever told you that?

Patrick: I tell myself that every day, actually.

-(

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0147800/quotes

)

Muse for Today:

Violet Hill, by Coldplay. This is my favorite song by them.

*Rough mathematical estimation made by a cow in Wellington boots

**Not every bad YA book is the one I was heavily referencing up there, but scores of bad YA novels were based off of that one and making fun of it is WAY too easy. So I failed not criticizing, but won my own heart.

Creative Title Goes Here

Day 2 of BEDA.

This is a little embarrassing. I had lots of blog ideas yesterday, but I kept thinking that I had to save them for BEDA. Now I'm sleepy and all of my ideas are gone.

I am so tempted to just post this, but I feel like I need quality for BEDA.

So, let's discuss things. (And by us discussing things, I mean I ramble about things and pretend that someone cares.)

Oh, gods above. I've gone blank.

Well, I can talk almost inexhaustibly about YouTubers and books, but since my pretentious Gone with the Wind analysis went up two days ago, I'll just talk about YouTubers,

[Now what do I say without sounding like a crazed fangirl?]

There is one blogger/vlogger I like. Actually, I like lots of blogger/vloggers, but I'm talking about Hayley G. Hoover today. She was part of the YouTube project fiveawesomegirls (she was Thursday). Anyway, she's funny and self-depreciating and likes Chipotle. I also disagree with her on a lot of topics, but she's fun to read anyway.

Fine, BEDA. Day 2. Full of quality. I had a celebrity cameo.

Quote for Saturday, April 2, 2011:

"Lack of discipline leads to frustration and self-loathing.”

-Marie Chapian

(http://thinkexist.com/quotes/marie_chapian/)

Muse for Today:

Interesting: India won the ICC Cricket Final. I am Indian. So this relates to me, somehow. Heh. I don't understand cricket. I am the shame of my family.

Not Interesting: The 'song' Friday by Rebecca Black. AAAAAAH I hate this song so much why is it stuck in my head?

BEDA

No, I have nothing April Fool's like to give the Internet. Today, everyone's on edge- it's April Fool's Day!

But you're all expecting it! What's the point?

Also, I don't have a sense of humor.

Moving on.

My, my. Look at the title. BEDA. What could that possibly mean?

In 2009, one of my favorite authors, Maureen Johnson, decided that she had been neglecting her blog, and that she would blog every day until the release of her book in paperback. The book was going to be released on May 1, so she would Blog Every Day (in) April.

I have also been neglecting my blog, and even though I am not as talented or witty or as famous as Maureen, I have thought about doing this. I need some kind of self-imposed discipline, so I am going to try BEDA this year.

This will be a greater dose of ME than you are used to, since I am a spotty sporadic blogger.

So, let's see how long I can keep this up until I realize that no one, least of all me, actually cares.

And no, this is not my subtle, cleverly hidden April Fool's Joke.

That was a terrible effort.

Here's to BEDA! Where hopefully, I will put it more effort than I put into this 'joke'!

Quote for Friday, April 1, 2011:

The early bird gathers no moss! The rolling stone catches the worm!

-Truman Burbank, The Truman Show

(http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/The_Truman_Show)

Muse for Today:

Interesting: This. It is a toaster that makes toast...and cooks eggs!

Not Interesting: Tedious, vague, and time-consuming projects.